Country Flirt (7 page)

When the proper amount of tea remained, she said, “I see you are right-handed. You must hold the cup by the handle and swirl it quickly.” Lord Howard gave it a swirl. “No, not like that! Counterclockwise.” Again, her dainty white fingers touched his hand, guiding it in the proper course. “You get a wish,” she said in her gentle voice. Her dark eyes gazed into his. “Just wish for what you want.”

Their eyes held over the moving cup. Lord Howard was struck most forcibly with the notion that the young female was not averse to fulfilling his every wish. A pity Miss Bright should be present, or the thing could be settled on the spot.

“Now turn the cup upside down on the saucer,” she ordered. “Place your left hand on the bottom of the cup–like so.” Again, her fingers guided his with loving touch. “And the right hand on top of the left. Now you concentrate on your wish.” Her body inclined to his as she spoke, just as he wished.

He
glanced impatiently to Monteith and Miss Bright, who were engaged in some private conversation. “A complete reading ought to be done in private, I expect,” he said.

She lifted her dark eyes and gazed at him. “That would be best, if you’re serious about learning your future, Lord Howard. I thought it was only an idle pastime?” The intensity of her gaze went far beyond reading leaves, and they both knew it.

“I’ll come back this evening,” he whispered. “Say about nine? Just make up anything you like for now.”

Mrs. Armstrong spouted a deal of nonsense about seeing the cup’s interior as a clock, each number having to do with direction, each level from rim to bottom designating a stage of the future as well.

“An archway, Lord Howard! That is a sign of hope! And look at all the little dots
—that signifies money. You are going to come into money.”

“Look at the time zone again, missie. I already have money. Plenty of it. Do you see a lady in the near future? That is what interests me!”

“I see a gate,” she said, with another long look. “That means an opportunity awaits.”

“Excellent! Does the position indicate nine this evening?”

She lifted her chin, and her soft expression congealed in annoyance. “Not quite so soon as that.”

“There ought to be something in there to show jewelry,” he tempted. “Do you see a bracelet or brooch? Ruby or emerald
—anything you fancy.”

The only item Mrs. Armstrong fancied was a golden band. She had no intention of sinking into her old occupation. She gave him a wounded look and set the cup down. “I have already told you, I don’t accept payment for reading the leaves,” she said stiffly; then she beckoned Monteith forward for his reading.

His reading was much more businesslike. There was no touching of the hands, no long gazing into his eyes, though she was careful to discover bells and other signals of good fortune. As it had been hinted that money was not welcome, the gentlemen were at something of a loss as to recompensing their hostess.

“I hope we may have the pleasure of your company at the f
ê
te champ
ê
tre next week,” Monteith said. “It will be held on the grounds of Lambrook Hall.”

This charity affair was open to all and sundry without benefit of an invitation, but Mrs. Armstrong thanked her guest very civilly and bowed them all out. Then she raced up to the attic and began examining the cat. She knew a glass eye when she saw one, and she saw two plain glass eyes staring at her from the corner. They couldn’t possibly be emeralds. Black dye had been melted into the glass. She snipped the taxidermist’s stitches along the stomach and poured sawdust out onto the floor. There wasn’t a thing in it
—no diamonds, nothing. All the cat was good for was doing Lady Monteith a favor, and as it never did any harm to be on terms with the village’s leading lady, she would stuff the sawdust back inside and restitch the horrid thing.

The morning was far from over. High Street was just coming alive when the party left Mrs. Armstrong’s house.

“Shall we go for a little drive?” Monteith suggested.

“I’ll take my morning constitutional,” Lord Howard decided. “I want to walk up and down High Street and say good day to everyone. I have many old acquaintances to resurrect. There’s no point your wasting your time, Monteith. Give me an hour or so and meet me at the inn. As Irene took your carriage home, you will have to go back with me.”

Monteith deemed his uncle safe for an hour on High Street and suggested Samantha go for a drive with him to pass the time.

“I’m surprised she didn’t mention the cat,” was Samantha’s first speech once they were alone.

“I was on nettles, waiting for her to blurt it out. Mrs. Armstrong is a handsome woman.”

“Woman, or lady? I still can’t make up my mind.”

“That would be due to your lack of intimacy with the former. Mrs. Armstrong is a handsome female, and a clever one, too. You notice I was allowed to arrange the leaves myself. Uncle required assistance at every turn. I think the old slice is after her.”

“I think your nose is out of joint, milord. Howard has mighty broad taste if he cares for her. Not an hour ago he all but asked for permission to court me!”

Monteith stifled his amusement as long as he could, but soon a loud bark of laughter broke out. “You aim too high, miss! Don’t mistake Uncle’s Indian manners for romance. It will be an incomparable for him
—if Mama and I don’t prevent it.”

Samantha felt a surge of anger at his laughing disbelief.

Monteith realized he had been gauche and tried to butter her up. “I daresay you are called an incomparable in the village.”

“Yes, here amidst the stiff competition of Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Tucker, I have been called an incomparable; and two gigs are called heavy traffic.”

“I’m sorry if I trod on your toes, but pray don’t go calling a few meaningless compliments an offer of marriage.”

“It might interest you to know the words ‘pushing my suit forward’ were used, and ‘young wife.’ It was
marriage
he was discussing, nothing else. He’d never marry Mrs. Armstrong
—a widow. You know his views about that.”

Monteith’s laughter faded, to be replaced by a blank stare. “By God, I think you’re serious!”

“What if I am? What’s wrong with that?”

“He’s twice your age!”

“I repeat, what’s wrong with that? You’re thirty-five. If you chose a deb of seventeen or eighteen, the world would smile in approval. I’m twenty-six
—Howard can’t be much more than fifty-two.”

“He’s fifty-five, more than a quarter of a century older than you. That’s a good deal more than seventeen or eighteen years.”

“It doesn’t seem too much to me. The quarter of a century passed so far hasn’t put many opportunities in my way. The next quarter could be much more interesting. Why shouldn’t I have a taste of London society like everyone else? Balls and theaters and routs ...”

“And the burra sahib accompanying you
—when he’s able.”

“He’s full of life. I never saw such an energetic man.”

“You wouldn’t say so if you’d seen him before he had his lemon water this morning. He looked green.”

“He has amazing recuperative powers, then. He was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when he came calling on me.”

Monteith scowled. Quite aside from seeing his uncle’s fortune go out of the family, it was distasteful to think of his marrying a young girl like Sam. “What of his character?”

“I believe his assassinations will stop now that he’s back in England.”

“I was referring to his womanizing. Have you become so sophisticated you would countenance Howard’s dangling after Mrs. Armstrong while courting you?”

She considered it a moment and answered with every appearance of seriousness, “No, if I decided to have him, I would insist he not visit Mrs. Armstrong. I would take up reading the leaves myself, if necessary.”

“You’ll have to take up more than reading the leaves. That was a pretext for him to get a look at her. The next visit will entail more ... intimate doings.”

“I believe it was just a morning’s amusement, no more.”

“You deceive yourself. The thing to do is keep Uncle occupied,” Monteith said, thinking aloud.

Samantha saw that already he had recovered from that first spurt of anger that Howard was interested in her. He didn’t believe her
—that was the fact of the matter. He didn’t think she was pretty enough to have engaged his uncle’s interest. She decided on the spot that she would not discourage Lord Howard’s advances. She liked him; perhaps liking might grow into loving. And she’d show Monty that she was more than a simple country rustic, that other men appreciated her, even if he didn’t.

“Perhaps I can help entertain him,” she suggested, with a mischievous smile.

Monteith scowled and whipped up the horses. He turned the carriage around at the next corner and returned Miss Bright to her home, where she stormed in, wearing a heavy frown.

“What happened? Did you get the cat?” her mother asked eagerly.

“No, she’s given it away. Monty and Lord Howard arrived and had their leaves read.”

“Was Lord Howard very angry?”

“He doesn’t know
—about the cat, I mean.”

“Then what has got you in a pelter?”

“Mrs. Armstrong is throwing her bonnet at Lord Howard.”

“But what is that to you, Sam? Surely you aren’t truly interested in him? He’s older than your father!”

“Why shouldn’t I be interested in a million pounds? Everyone else is!”

“Oh, Sam! Don’t be ridiculous. He’s not your type.”

“There are many would jump at him. What
is
my type, Mama? Have I had a better suitor? No, I have had Mr. Russel’s assistant, and I have walked out twice with Mr. Pearson when he was visiting Clifford Sutton two years ago.”

“I always hoped you and Ted
—”

“Ted doesn’t seem to share your hopes. Since his graduation, we’ve hardly seen a sign of him. He’s still a boy. Howard is a man. His wife will have a fascinating life, the sort of life you and I can hardly imagine. I would like to marry and have children, a home....”A wistful sigh escaped Samantha’s lips.

Her mother looked and nodded in understanding if not agreement. “You’ve had a narrow sort of a life,” she said pensively.

“Narrow as a straw. Now the whole wheat field is opening before me, and all anyone can do is scold because I show some interest. I like Howard very much, Mama,” she said mulishly, then ran upstairs before she should reveal what was really bothering her; that Monty had laughed out loud. That he didn’t believe anyone was interested in her. She’d show him.

Mrs. Bright sat down to do serious battle with her conscience. Had she the right to try to dissuade Sam? Her daughter was eight years older than she was when she had married. Sam was grown up, and she was sensible. It would be fine to see her so well settled. Mrs. Bright’s thoughts were so serious and sober that she didn’t even think how the match would infuriate Irene. She decided that if Sam was sincerely attached to Lord Howard, she would do nothing to cast a rub in her way. But it would seem strange to have a son-in-law older than herself.

Chapter 7

Monteith kept his eyes and ears open when he joined his uncle later, to learn what, if anything, was said of Miss Bright. The first subject that arose was not Samantha, but Mrs
.
Armstrong.

“Would you know if the lady has a patron?” Lord Howard asked bluntly.

“I’m not aware that she has,” Monty replied. “On the other hand, Uncle, you will hardly wish to take her under your protection at this time if you have in mind a more proper alliance. You mentioned marriage.”

“One thing hasn’t much to do with the other. My wife will be busy raising sons and running my house. A man requires his little diversions. You may be sure I would employ every discretion. Armstrong’s location
—just across the street from Brights’—is awkward. I daresay she has a back door.”

The anger that clutched Monteith’s heart was untinged with any monetary consideration. “Samantha’s young enough to be your daughter,” he said gruffly.

“A man don’t marry a relict when he means to fill a nursery. Miss Bright has a good sturdy hip on her; she’ll be a fine breeder. I look forward to it,” he said, his eyes glowing lustfully.

Monteith’s knuckles turned white. He dared not speak. It was all he could do to keep his hands from flying to Howard’s nose. All unaware, his uncle rattled on, “I want a wife young enough to tend to the kiddies after I am gone. There’s no saying I’ll see my lads fledged. I might very well stick my fork in the wall before they finish university. My intention, Monteith, is to make you my sons’ guardian. I meant to mention it to you. You have no objection?”

“I have every objection!”

Lord Howard considered this a moment and put his own construction on it. “You will be pretty busy in the House, I daresay. It might be best to hire a brace of lawyers for the job.”

From concern for his unborn sons, Lord Howard immediately reverted to his mistress-to-be. “About Mrs. Armstrong
—I gather she is new in the village?”

“So I understand.”

“I was wondering whether she is a real widow or a grass widow. I don’t care much for getting tied up with the latter. You never know when their husbands will come pouncing home, spoiling for a fight. I have had some difficulty with husbands in the past. Now that I am home, I mean to keep my nose clean. I shall find out from her this evening.”

“You’re going to Armstrong’s tonight?” Monty asked in alarm.

Lord Howard gave a knowing smile and said, “For a more thorough reading of the leaves. She suggested it herself. I wish I had thought to mention using the back door.”

After a moment’s pause, Monteith replied in very good spirits, “I doubt Miss Bright will be spying from her window. What time is your assignation?”

“Nine o’clock.”

They continued on their way home. The afternoon passed with no major contretemps. Lord Howard was punctual for his reading that evening, and Mrs. Armstrong was more than punctual. She was ready and waiting half an hour before his arrival. Having had considerable experience with gentlemen of Lord Howard’s kidney, she knew precisely what he was about, and was determined to turn the direction of his interest to more proper channels.